


Here We Are Again

by professionalmomfriend (mothmanwashere)



Series: Here We Are Again verse [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Dave Strider - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, sadstuck? maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmanwashere/pseuds/professionalmomfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas and you can deny all you'd like that you know exactly where you're headed, but you know the truth.</p><p>You'll always end up here.  Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Are Again

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, concerns, complains, suggestions, weird memes, pictures of cacti, useful recipes, and any solicitations can be sent to actualmomlalonde.tumblr.com

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you're the stupidest motherfucker ever to walk the planet.

It's 2am, the sky is black and pouring rain, and you've been wandering around outside for the last forty five minutes, pretending that you don't know exactly where you're headed. The lights are all on in the apartment upstairs and anyway, you know he's awake. He's never gone to bed before 3 am a day in his life. Leftover habits from growing up with a nocturnal older brother.

You punch in the code to open the safety door and it clicks open. You trudge up five flights of stairs until you're standing in front of his apartment, dripping and shivering onto the stupid welcome mat covered in shitty, jpegy drawings that you know he made in the highest end drawing program available. He was a good artist when he wanted to be, but he didn't want to be. Fortunately for him, the rest of the world ate up his craptastic comics like movie goers shovel down popcorn before the movie even starts.

Shit, you're making stupid analogies. Just standing here is making all of those traits he taught you bleed back in to your brain. You should leave. Turn around right now. Go home and pretend it never happened. Pretend you didn't come back here. Pretend that you're over him and that you can't stand him and that he doesn't creep into your thoughts every day.

You knock. Four times, loudly as you can.

The music coming from inside covers the sound of his footsteps, so when the door swings open and suddenly he's standing there, shirtless, shades in place, katana in hand, you're not ready for it. You suck in a breath and try to pretend you have some sort of dignity left. But you don't. You know it and he knows it, because you're the one that always come crawling back here in the middle of the night.

“You're dripping on my welcome mat.”

“Then maybe you should let me inside and get me a towel, assmunch,” you bite out. Your entire body is convulsing in shivers and you can't stop it, so you know you can't possibly be as threatening as you hope. It works, to some degree, as he steps back to let you inside, but his hand immediately halts you once you're over the threshold.

“You're not dripping all over my apartment, bro,” he tells you, dropping the sword he holds back into the umbrella stand. “Strip and wait here. I'll grab you a towel and then put your shit in the dryer.”

You glare at the back of his head as he disappears down the hall and into his bedroom. You hate that you know the layout of this apartment like the back of your hand. You hate that it hasn't changed since the first day you stepped foot in here. You hate that Dave is so unchanging and consistent and you still can't predict him. You hate that you're here and you keep coming back here and you absolutely fucking hate how much you still love him.

Some part of you wants to disobey his blatant orders, but your wet, gray hoodie feels like it weighs about ten pounds and is practically sucking away any warmth you might have had left in your body. Gritting your teeth, you shed your soaked clothing and stand in your briefs, shivering, until he returns with the towel a few seconds later.

Dave lifts an eyebrow at you over the rim of his shades, and you raise your chin defiantly.

“Underwear.”

“Fuck no.”

“Normally, if you wanted to wear wet underwear home, dude, I'd say be my fucking guest. But mark my words, those things start chafing and I sure as hell know I'm not gonna be the one to baby powder your balls. I told you to strip so you better fucking finish the job.” He holds the towel aloft and you know that he's not going to give it to you until you finish stripping.

You glower in his direction. “Fuck you,” you snarl, shoving the damp articles down until they flop around your ankles. As soon as you've stepped free of them, he tosses you the towel, hitting you in the face.

“You drunk?”

“Not as drunk as I'd like to be,” you growl, wrapping the towel around your shoulders and burying your face. It's Dave's towel, of course, which means it's gloriously warm and fluffy. Dave Strider may seem like an aloof, uncaring bastard, but he pampers himself, and by extension, his guests.

“So why are you here?”

“I think we both know why I'm here,” you mutter, turning your head just enough so that your words aren't lost in a sea of terry cloth.

“Well, duh, I know why you're here,” Dave confirms, leaning casually against the wall. You're trying really hard not to stare at his toned, slightly glistening body. God fucking damn it. If his skin ever saw the sun, he'd practically have the physique of a Greek god. “I just want to hear you say it.” Dave leans closer and pulls down his shades so that you can see his eyes. “So tell me. Why are you here?”

You hold your middle finger proudly aloft.

“Use your words, Karkles.”

“I'm remembering why I dumped you,” you grit out through your teeth. They're still chattering, but not as bad as just a few moments ago. He shrugs unsympathetically.

“You keep using that word, but you can't dump someone you never dated.” Ice laces the crimson irises of Dave's eyes as he reminds you that you and he were never official. “Don't you agree?”

“You're an asshole.”

“And you continue to crash my apartment for unsolicited sex every few weeks.” Dave's sunglasses are now on top of his head and his sharp, red eyes issue every challenge you could possibly want to think of. “You can't get enough of me. Admit it.”

“Yes!” You clench your fists and your towel slips off one of your shoulders. The emotions you've tried so desperately to staunch the past twenty-four hours are shattering the wall you've built up inside. “Yes, okay? I CAN'T get enough of you and I hate it, I fucking HATE YOU, but I need you and I just--” your voice cracks on the last long E sound, and as if your broken voice was the trigger that led to the rest of your strength crumbling, your knees buckle. Your throat chokes up, threatening to strangle you just like it has strangled your words.

He mutters a quiet, “Shit,” and you feel him crouch down beside you and pick you up with a grunt. Somewhere deep inside, your pride screeches in offense, but the part of you that's still in love with Dave silences that and you allow him to carry you to the couch. You curl up into a tight ball as you feel the couch cushions give beneath your weight, but Dave doesn't let you out of his arms. He stays wrapped around you, rubbing gentle circles on your back, and his touch releases your sobs. He's gentle. He knows what you need better than you do. He knows you.

You can't take this, you can't take this, you can't.

You uncurl yourself and push toward him, invading his mouth with yours. He responds easily, but all the desperation is on your end. The overwhelming need you feel for Dave takes over your senses and you find yourself straddling his hips, attacking his mouth with fervor, brushing your hand down his still-bare chest. One of his hands comes up and presses against your chest, pushing you back. You let out a whine as you resist him, but he is stronger. “Down, boy,” Dave says. “As nice as you've always tasted, I'm not a homewrecker. I'm not letting you do anything you're gonna regret once you're sober, and I'm not giving your boyfriend even more reason to slaughter me while I sleep.”

“'M not drunk,” you say, but it sounds slurred to your own ears and Dave just rolls his eyes.

“Sure you aren't.” Dave retracts his hands, but you don't let him go far. “Karkat, what are you doing?”

“What's it look like?”

“No, why are you here?”

“I want to have sex with you,” you mutter, nosing your way toward his neck and pressing kisses to the soft skin of his throat.

“Horny bastard.”

“Shuddup and kiss me, Strider.”

“No.”

You sit back and stare at him. “Why?”

“Because one, you're drunk. Two, you're in a relationship. Three, you hate me. And four, maybe I care about your ass even if you don't seem to give a flying fuck about it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care about me? Why do you still care about me?” You stare at him, your eyes meeting his without obstruction. “I've treated you like shit, Dave. I wouldn't be your boyfriend, but I kept sleeping with you. And then I left you cold turkey, and I STILL keep coming back and using you. I make it a point to tell you that I hate your fucking guts and I can't stand you, and all you do is give me what I want. I need to know how the fuck you could ever care about an asshole like me!”

“Because I love you, Karkat!”

His eyes go wide and you know why: he's never said that to you before. Your relationship, if it can even be called that, was always off-limits in the emotions category. You knew how to pleasure each other, and that was it. That was all you would let it be, because you knew guys like Dave would break your heart without even trying. The reason you ended up breaking it off was because of your stupid romantic streak, not that you ever would have admitted that to anyone. Dave wasn't the kind of guy who would give you the rom-com happy ending you'd been dreaming of since you were ten. You were too afraid of Dave to give him a chance, because you had him pegged from the moment you laid eyes on him.

His outburst just twists the knife in your heart. “That just makes it worse! How the fuck do you love someone who fucking hates you?!”

“You don't hate me,” he snaps, face creasing into a scowl. “You say you do, but I've seen you with people you hate. You hate Vriska, you hate your brother, you hate John's stupid salamander. You don't hate me. If you really hated me, you'd have turned around and walked out the day John fucking introduced us.” The scowl eases off until he's just sitting there, straight-faced, with his arms folded across his chest between the two of you. “If I'm wrong – fine. But make good on it right now. No one made you stay all that time, and no one is making you come back.”

He's right. You don't hate him. You never hated him. You hate yourself and you took it out on him. He's always so guarded, especially behind those damned shades. He's afraid of getting hurt. He doesn't let anyone through that facade anymore. But not right now. Right now, the wall is down; the shades are off and he's sharing himself with you. A wave of guilt washes over you for always using him like this. For not giving him a real chance. It may be true that you can't stay away from him, but it's also true that you were always his weak point.

“Fucking-- fuck you.” Your words hold no more venom, and you sag against him, laying your forehead on his shoulder, weary with emotion and the late hour and the fact that you've started shivering again. He notices – of course – and wraps his arms around your waist so that he can stand and carry you to the bathroom. How the motherfucking shit he always manages to carry your grown ass around his apartment, you'll never really know. He always chalks it up to the insane workout regimen he maintains, and you can't deny that he's pretty toned. But still, he doesn't look like he should be able to carry a small child, much less you.

There's always been more to Dave Strider than met the eye.

He sits you on your feet in the bathroom and starts the shower running, sticking his hand behind the curtain as the water heats up. Your towel has been lost somewhere between the couch and here, but you don't really pay much attention to its absence. “Get in. I'll grab you something warm to wear.”

He leaves the bathroom, edging around you without touching, and shuts the door behind him. You check the water temperature with your own hand and step into the spray. You practically melt into the warm water, letting it cascade over your bare body. You're half expecting Dave to rejoin you, if for nothing else but to bring you some boxers. But even after the scalding water has sufficiently warmed you and you've lingered in the shower for longer than is really necessary, he doesn't appear. You decide you're finished waiting for him and shut off the water. You peek out of the curtain and see a fresh towel folded within arms reach, and a pile of clothes sitting beside the sink. Fucking Dave and his ninja skills. You didn't even hear him open the door.

You towel off and dress in what he left you – a pair of flannel sweatpants and a black t-shirt. The clothes are soft and smell like Dave, and you won't deny burying your face in the t-shirt and inhaling deeply before you pull it on. You rub the towel over your wet hair and fingercomb it into submission before quietly opening the door and going in search of Dave.

You find Dave across the hall in his bedroom, sitting leisurely on his bed with a computer in his lap, long legs stretched out in front of him on top of the comforter. He has a shirt now (unfortunately, some part of your mind comments), wearing pajamas quite similar to the ones he gave you to wear. You hesitate in the doorway until he notices you, beckoning you closer with a jerk of his head. “Serious talk, Vantas. Your boyfriend expecting you home tonight?”

You shake your head. Dave stares at you with a single, raised eyebrow until you elaborate. “Had a fight. Might have broken up. He probably won't want to talk to me any time soon, if ever.”

Dave nods. “Then get your bony ass over here. You look like you haven't slept in days.”

He's not wrong.

Your feet shuffle forward. The shower had done a lot toward sobering you up, and you hadn't even drunk that much in the first place. It feels dumb that you are shy, because this is Dave and if there was one person in the entire goddamned world you actually felt comfortable seeing you at your worst, it would be him. But you don't really know where you stand with Dave since the two of you broke it off. It had been your decision, and he had accepted it rather graciously, considering. You had felt like shit for weeks. You still feel like shit, to be honest, but it is less prominent in your mind these days.

You finally make it to the bed. Dave's still watching you, but he isn't prompting you to go any further. His bed looks so inviting that suddenly you don't give a single shit what Eridan will say when he finds out that you spent the night at Dave's again. You crawl under the covers and snuggle up to Dave's warmth as he sits on top of the comforter. Dave shifts a little to accommodate you, resting his right hand on your back as his left works the laptop's touchpad. Warm comfort seeps into your limbs, and you begin to blink owlishly. You're not even watching what Dave is doing. You're just enjoying how well the two of you fit together and watching how easily he types with just his left hand.

“I always forget that you're left handed.”

Dave looks down at you with amusement in his expression. “Go to sleep, Karkat,” he says softly.

Obeying is easy this time.

**Author's Note:**

> To probably be continued.
> 
> Maybe.


End file.
